


hurry up and wait

by jestbee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Dating, Flirting, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: This is a bad date. Dan usually would have bailed out ages ago. Phil is just some bloke he picked up in a bar, so it isn't like he's invested. The problem, and it's one Dan has been wrestling with all night, is that Phil is incredibly hot.





	hurry up and wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Phandomficfests Dates flash fest
> 
> A massive thank you to the lovely @intoapuddle who literally sat and watched me write this, was the best cheerleader, and without whom this wouldn't have been finished

Dan doesn't hold the bar high for dates or anything, but this one has been spectacularly bad. He'd been left standing in the cold for ten minutes because his date was late, the movie they'd planned on seeing was sold out because he hadn't booked in advance, and then the restaurant they'd decided to go to instead had left some chicken in what was supposed to be a vegan noodle dish. 

He isn't having a good a night. 

He usually would have bailed out ages ago. The guy— Phil— is just some bloke he picked up in a bar, and so it isn't like he's invested. The problem, and it's one Dan has been wrestling with all night, is that Phil is incredibly hot. 

When he'd spotted him across the bar last weekend and made his way over through the busy crowd, he'd wanted nothing more than to take him back to his flat that very second. Dates aren't usually his thing, picking up hot men in bars and taking them home, is. 

But Phil hadn't been on board with that. 

"Go on a date with me," he'd said when Dan suggested they leave the bar. 

"A date?" Dan had replied, shocked to have his usual methods rebuked so.

"Yes," Phil has nodded, his cheekbones flashing under disco lights, first green then purple. 

He'd let his gaze drag the length of Phil's body, from the deep black hair that had to be dyed given the colour of his eyebrows, skimming over impossibly blue eyes he might get lost in if he lingered, all the way down to the plush curve of his ass in black jeans. Dan had handed over his phone for his number without giving it much of a second thought.

When Phil arrives late to the date Dan had begrudgingly agreed to, mostly because he still thought he might be able to make his long game work, he looks gorgeous as all hell. He's clearly been running, flushed pink in the face and slightly out of breath, and Dan's brain slots that image into the rather vanilla fantasy he's created of Phil having bent over the arm of his couch. 

Boring by his usual standards, but it gets him through the rest of the disastrous date. 

"Well," Dan says, walking out of the restaurant back into the frigid night air. "That was…" 

"It was awful," Phil supplies with a warm, rounded chuckle in his deep, happy voice. 

That's the other thing. Everything has gone entirely wrong, in enough ways for this whole evening to rank quite badly amongst all of the dates Dan has been on, but Phil has kept smiling throughout. He cracks jokes, keeps the conversation going even when Dan is sullen and quiet, unable to keep his usual repertoire of banter going in order to seal the deal. 

It's a bad date, but Phil is kind of… nice. And gorgeous, not forgetting entirely gorgeous. 

"I agree," Dan says, thinking that a last ditch effort might be worth it after all. "I can think of only one way to salvage it." 

Phil's mouth is tugged into a smirk. He's picked up exactly what Dan is putting down and Dan steps forward, into his space. The night air is cold and their breaths mist into the space between them, Phil is wearing a black parka with soft golden fur around the hood. It isn't pulled up over his head, but it does flutter around his neck as Dan lifts a hand to press his cold fingers against the side of Phil's warm throat and lean in. 

"Come home with me," he says, in a voice that has proved to be enticing whenever he's used it before. 

Phil doesn't respond right away, and Dan feels the movement of his adam's apple under the pads of his fingers as Phil swallows, before stepping away out of reach. Dan's hand lingers in the air for a fraction of a second before dropping back to his side. 

"What?" Dan says, "What's wrong?" 

"I'm not going home with you," Phil says. 

He doesn't seem mad. If anything, his voice is lilted and amused, his mouth pulled into a smile, the tip of his nose and ears pink with the cold lending a bemused look to the whole thing. 

"You're not?" Dan says.

"On the first date?" Phil says, pressing his palm flat against his breastbone as if scandalised, "what kind of boy do you take me for?" 

Dan can't help the quiet snort of laughter that escapes him. Phil, while fit as all fuck, is also a massive dork. It shouldn't endear him as much as it does, given that the idea of taking him home is the only thing keeping his interest in this calamitous excursion, but he can't help it. 

"Well, can't blame a guy for trying," Dan shrugs, attempting some of the same levity Phil is applying to the situation. "Maybe it's best we just call it a day. Thank you for an… interesting evening."

Dan steps backwards, hand already fishing in to his pocket for his phone. He's calling an Uber, a night like this doesn't need to end with him taking the underground alone. Not without someone to press up against a partition. 

"Or we could have a do-over?" Phil says, surprising him.

"A what?"

"A do-over," Phil repeats. "You know, like a second date. I know tonight didn't exactly… I don't think I've really given the best impression. I'm usually better at this."

"Is that right?" 

_So am I_ , Dan thinks, _much much better._

He's not mad at Phil for not coming home with him. That would be disgusting. He's just kind of perplexed that even though he'd hung on through what was quite clearly a bad date, he isn't even going to get a little skin-on-skin action to sweeten the whole thing. 

"Yes. And I'd really like to take you out properly," Phil says. 

Dan considers him. He knows, from their stilted conversation over dinner, that they do have some things in common. They share a love of video games and bad puns at least, so Dan could probably get through another bad date if he had to. He just wonders whether it's worth all the trouble. 

"Look, Phil, You seem really nice. And I'm not. Not really, so you probably deserve someone who is looking for—" 

"Are you…" Phil laughs, a grey-white cloud of mist puffing into the air, "pulling an Angel on me right now?"

Dan stops. _What the fuck?_

"Err— What?"

"You know, the whole 'you deserve better than me thing' that Angel pulls on Buffy when he leaves for LA?"

"Um…" 

"Cus, you know, he only does that because he thinks he's saving her. Not because he doesn't want to be with her." 

Dan blinks, shaking his head and allowing a wide, incredulous smile to take over his mouth. Phil is certifiably insane, he must be, and Dan must be too for finding it utterly charming. 

"She still didn't end up with him though," Dan points out, "It was Spike in the end." 

"Was it?" Phil says, waving his hand in a dismissive kind of way, "I don't think so. Not really."

"You're ridiculous," Dan says, flatly. 

"Go out with me."

"I mean it, you're nuts." 

"Go out with me anyway," Phil shrugs. 

Dan takes a deep breath, thinking he'll probably regret this in the morning, or about five minutes after leaving. 

"Fine"

* * *

Dan does seriously consider saying no to the invitation when Phil texts him. He's at work, transcribing case notes which is just really really boring, so it's a bit of a relief when his phone vibrates on the desk next to him. 

He's got his headphones plugged in, the thick beat of his playlist a touch too loud if Callum's look over the top of their adjoining desks when he'd pressed play is any indication. 

**Phil, 1:23 PM**  
Are you free this Friday for our do-over?

The most he would have been doing is going out again. Possibly to a bar, possibly to try and find someone in the crowd that interested him on any level. He already knows that Phil interests him, loathed as he is to admit it, so it would save him a lot of time. 

**Dan, 1:25 PM**  
sure 

When Friday rolls around, Dan is waiting in his living room. He'd gotten dressed a bit too early, in black ankle-skimming jeans with rips in the knees, and a soft charcoal jumper. He isn't bothering with a shirt, and he's only put the bare amount of product in his hair to tame the wild curls, because he doesn't have much hope that this will be any better than last time. 

Phil arrives, precisely when he said he would this time around, to pick Dan up. Dan throws the door open wide and takes in the sight of Phil, black jeans, a deep blue shirt open at the collar, wearing a black blazer-like jacket overtop. He looks delicious. 

"You're on time," Dan says. "That's better than last time."

"This is a do-over," Phil says, "last time didn't happen." 

"Oh." Dan feels his eyebrows raise and he can't help but throw him a cheeky smirk. "In that case, can I interest you in a drink before we go? I can be very hospitable." 

Phil rolls his eyes, "less of that," he says, "come on, I actually bought tickets, film starts at seven."

They end up having a good time. Phil does manage to spill popcorn all over him in the dark of the cinema, but Dan doesn't really mind when Phil reaches over, face up close so that Dan can see the blue of his eyes reflected in the glow of the movie he's suddenly lost all interest in, to delicately pick kernels off his chest. 

When he sits back in his seat, mostly popcorn free, Phil presses a warm knee against Dan's and Dan feels a shock of tingly electricity from the contact. He's aware of all the parts of Phil's body and how close they are to his. He shifts in his seat, only a fraction of an inch, and their shoulders are touching, firm and comfortable. 

The movie continues, the loud noise of explosions shakes the air around them and the screen flashes, lighting up the tips of Phil's profile. His sharp cheekbones, the dip and curve of his lips. Dan swallows hard. 

Somewhere towards the end of the movie Phil reaches over, across the armrest, and places a hand on Dan's knee. He realises it's because he's been jiggling his leg up and down, restless energy thrumming through him. 

He stills himself, trying to calm the way his heart has picked up a bit at the touch of Phil's skin through the rip in the knee of his jeans. He could swear Phil's fingers twitch, stroking over the smooth skin, but he can't be sure. 

Phil is a bit of a contradiction. He's all flirting and suggestive raises of the eyebrow, touching Dan's skin in the dark of a cinema, but always refusing when Dan suggests working out some of the tension he's so carefully building. 

Dan wonders why, honestly, what the point is in riling Dan up if he isn't going to take advantage of it. 

"That was good," Phil says when they're back on the street. 

"Very… actiony," Dan says, "I liked the basic premise, I thought they went a bit too ham on the CGI in places but the cinematography was— What?" 

Phil is looking at him with an expression Dan can't place. His head is tipped to the side, only the smallest of fractions, and his top teeth are resting in small, gentle divots against his bottom lip. 

"Nothing," Phil says, eventually, "I just didn't realise you were so opinionated about film."

This is why Dan doesn't date. He hates having to explain himself, or apologise for who he is. He's loud, and opinionated, and that comes out on dates at some point whether he wants it to or not. One-and-done, with or without breakfast in the morning, is so much easier. 

"Sorry," Dan mumbles, blushing and diverting his eyes to the road where a bright red bus with all its lights on whizzes past. 

"No," Phil says, his long spidery fingers squeezing gently at Dan's arm, "I like it. Go on, tell me more about the cinematography."

To Dan's surprise, he really seems to mean it, giving Dan his full attention. He starts slow, sharing some basic opinions on the film they've just seen, but Phil asks questions, looks at him intently like the things he's saying are the most interesting thing he's ever heard, and before he knows it, Dan has talked all the way through dinner. 

"God," Dan says, realising, "I feel like I should probably ask you something about you now."

Phil is sipping from a wine glass and his throat works as he swallows before he responds. The restaurant is nicer this time, a place with tablecloths rather than placemats, and the vegan paella Dan ordered had absolutely no traces of chicken to be seen. 

"Ask away," Phil says. 

Dan finds out that Phil works in something to do with video editing, and suddenly regrets ranting about cinematography from his amateur perspective. Phil is, of course, gracious about it, and tells him that he was impressed with Dan's insight. You know, for a layman. 

He teases, jokes, sprinkles in a few of those god awful puns that they both love so much and Dan actually ends up having a good time. 

When the bill arrives Dan insists on paying. Phil had paid last time, and then he'd also paid for the cinema tickets, so Dan thinks it's probably his turn. He hadn't planned it, but when his hand reaches for the leather wallet containing the receipt, and Phil's hand falls on top of his, he smiles, insists, and finds he genuinely means it. 

"Let me walk you home?" Phil says, on the street once again. 

It's dark, cars stream past in a constant hum, and the string of restaurants along the road light the pavement in alternating chunks. 

"Alright," Dan says, smiling. 

He feels like he's been working himself up to this all night. A hand on his knee in the dark, Phil's intent eyes over dinner, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed the delicious wine. He is so ready for Phil to walk him home. 

Their shoulders brush again as they make their way back. They actually haven't wandered too far. Far enough that they could justify taking the underground back if they wanted to, especially as it's cold, but they pass the station without discussing it and continue onward, walking close. 

Dan is thrumming with anticipation. He can't help reaching out to slide his hand into Phil's, pressing their cold palms together, marvelling at how soft his skin is. 

Phil asks Dan about his job, and Dan does the same in return, and the conversation is easy and unhurried all the way back to Dan's front door. 

"Well," Dan says, "here we are." 

He unlocks the door, throwing it wide open and taking half a step in through it before Phil stops him, pulling where their hands are still joined.

"Not going to say goodbye?" Phil says. 

Dan turns back towards him, shoes squeaking on the laminate flooring of his hallway. 

"Aren't you coming in?" 

Phil shakes his head, "this was a do-over," he says, "so technically still a first date." 

Dan's mouth drops open, because Phil can't be serious, can he? 

Perhaps he isn't feeling what Dan is, all this tension built up between them, achingly ready to burst. 

"Are you— wow. Okay."

He doesn't want to plead, Dan Howell does not beg for sex and besides, if Phil doesn't want to come inside he isn't about to pressure him to do so. He'd just thought tonight was heading in a different direction. 

"I had a really good time, though," Phil says, stepping up close to him, but not crossing the threshold. He tugs Dan's closer by the hand and reaches up to press the pad of his thumb into the place on Dan's cheek where his dimple dips in. It there now, it always is when he's pouting. "I'd like to do it again, if you're up for it?" 

Phil is so close that Dan's head is swimming with the woodsy scent of his cologne. His soft, soft hand is on Dan's cheek and he finds himself nodding in agreement, intoxicated by all the proximity.

"Great," Phil says.

He leans in then, and Dan expects to be kissed, his own lips twitch in anticipation, but Phil's mouth lands on his the side of cheek, down towards his jaw. Over his dimple. 

When he stands back, he looks pleased with himself. 

"Goodnight, Dan," he says. 

"Mm," Dan hums, more muddled than he should be from a simple kiss on the cheek, "night, Phil."

* * *

**Phil, 2:33 PM**  
Fancy sharing some more cinematic opinions at my house this Saturday? I'll cook.

Dan drops his head to his desk, right next to his keyboard, or perhaps a bit on top of it, and groans out loud. Callum's head pop overtop of his monitor. 

"You alright mate?" 

"Yeah," Dan nods, cheek still pressed against the surface, "I just got a text off a guy."

"Oh, well that's… good? Right?"

Dan attempts a shrug, but his position bent over in a pathetic slump just makes it look like a full-body wriggle. 

"He wants another date. At his house."

"Get in," Callum says. 

He's one of those lad-ish kind of blokes, and while they've worked past the slight discomfort he'd displayed when Dan had first said something that indicated his sexuality, he's now disturbingly on board with the whole thing. Too much so, Dan could argue. 

"That's the trouble," Dan says, "I think I'm losing my touch. This will be our third date… I mean second date. Er… whatever. It's complicated. Anyway, he just… I don't know. I don't do _dating_."

"Kinda sounds like you do."

"Well, precisely, I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't bother." 

Callum eyes him, and Dan lifts his head off the desk finally. 

"Is he fit?" Callum asks. 

"You have no idea."

"Then stop your fucking ballaching, the guy just invited you to his _house_. That means some shit, could be your lucky night." 

Dan takes a deep breath. He doesn't know why it feels weird, why he's so mixed up about it. It should be that simple. Go to Phil's house, lay on the charm, finally get his hands on that ridiculously good looking body, but something about it makes him feel off-kilter. Maybe it's because this isn't his usual pattern, that Phil keeps doing things that seem unexpected, going left whenever Dan means to go right. 

He doesn't like feeling like he's the one on the back foot. 

"Maybe you're right," he says, to appease Callum. 

Callum nods, seemingly satisfied, and sits back down at his own desk, face obscured by Dan's monitor. 

**Dan, 2:55PM**  
fine but im bringing the film

Phil answers his door with the sleeves to a green jumper rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale, lean forearms, and a "pet the cook" apron featuring a cartoon drawing of a dog wearing a chef's hat. 

"Cute," Dan notes, almost without thinking, and Phil beams at him. 

"Come in." 

The flat is a mish-mash of so many different styles. Phil has figurines and books on every surface, DVDs stacked by the TV as well as in their own little shelving unit in the corner. There's a colourful rug, a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, and throw cushions that don't match each other at all. 

It's cosy though, warm and inviting. It suits him.

On the walls, there are framed posters of classic movies, Hitchcock and Spielberg, as well as some more recent offerings from Wes Anderson. Dan walks over to look up at the one above his fireplace.

"I'm a bit of a film nerd," Phil says, coming back from the kitchen and handing Dan a glass of wine. "Have you seen that one?"

Dan accepts the glass and then chuckles. "I'll do you one better," he says, reaching in to the bag he brought with him and retrieving a DVD, "It's the one I brought with me." 

Phil laughs and compliments him on his good taste. Uma Thurman, in her yellow tracksuit, stares down at them from her poster. 

Phil's dinner table is in his kitchen. It's a glass one, circular, with curved chrome legs and matching black chairs. He guides Dan towards it after they've chatted about the film for a while, and as he walks into the room Dan is pleased to find that the air is full of the smell of whatever it is Phil has decided to cook for him. 

"I hope you like pasta," Phil says, topping up Dan's wine glass, "I didn't want to be too ambitious." 

"Pasta is great." 

"Don't worry," Phil says, "I remembered about the vegan thing." 

For some reason, some fluttery unnecessary reason, that makes Dan feel warm all the way down to his toes. He takes one last sip of his wine and puts the glass back on the table, vowing to slow down a bit. 

Their conversation over dinner is just as easy as it was last time they saw each other. Dan is stunned that he isn't finding it boring, or stilted, but that he enjoys their gentle back and forth, the interesting topics of debate, fond teasing. He forgets all of his nerves from before he came, all of that twisted conflicted feeling he had about coming at all, and relaxes into it.

"That was lovely," Dan says, placing his knife and fork down onto an empty plate. 

There is a smearing of sauce, and only dregs of wine left, but otherwise they are both full and happy. Phil is smiling at him, the rise of his cheeks tinted pink in a way that had appeared around his second glass of wine, and Dan thinks it's beautiful. 

"Should we watch the film?" Phil says. 

Dan nods, "Sure." 

"I'll just put these in the dishwasher," Phil says, standing to pick up the plates, "If I don't do it now I'll forget."

Phil gets to his feet, one plate in each hand, and crosses to the dishwasher. It isn't a long distance, the kitchen not being very big, but Phil somehow still manages to lose his balance. First the forks slide off to the side of one plate and Phil tries to correct it, to tip back the other way, but he does it too far and too quickly and after much fumbling ends up with a sauce-smeared plate pressed to the front of his jumper. 

"Oh my god," Phil says, pulling the plate away and looking down at the mess. 

Dan erupts into laughter. He can't help it, Phil's bottom lip is stuck out in a saddened pout, and the front of his jumper is completely covered in the rich, red sauce. 

"Better soak that before it stains," Dan advises, in breath between bouts of laughter. His shoulders shake, his eyes screwing up, and Phil turns around to glare at him. 

"You're right," Phil says. 

He abandons the plates on the bench, reaching to the hem of his jumper and pulling it slowly up and over his head. He isn't wearing a t-shirt underneath it, and Dan's breath catches in his throat, his laughter silenced suddenly. 

His skin is pale and smooth, and he has a smattering of dark chest hair, not quite as dark as the colour he dyes the hair on his head, but gorgeous. His waist is trim, lean, with muscles shifting under his skin as he moves. Hair trails from his belly button downward, over the soft, subtle rise of his stomach, the harsh, defined jut of his hip bone and then down, down under the waistband of his jeans. 

Dan swallows, he can't stop staring. 

Phil bundles his soiled jumper in his hands in front of him, and this break in his eyeline is the only thing to knock him from his trance. 

"You alright there?" Phil says, a sarcastic smirk in his voice. 

"Fine," Dan says, even if he isn't. 

Phil puts the plates in the dishwasher, and the jumper in the washing machine, bending over and showing Dan how his jeans tighten over that perfect arse, all while gloriously, wonderfully shirtless. 

Dan thinks he might pass out from the sheer tease of it all. 

"Do you want to take the wine to the couch?" Phil says when he's done, "I'll just go find a shirt and join you." 

"Don't find one on my account," Dan says, "I'm quite enjoying the view." 

Phil shoots him a look, and a final smirk, before leaving the room. 

Dan is mildly perturbed to find that Phil's little show has left him semi-hard in his jeans. He takes a deep breath, drains the last of the wine from his glass, picks up the bottle, along with Phil's glass, and makes his way to the living room. 

When Phil comes back, wearing a black t-shirt now with some kind of spacy square design in the centre of it, he insists on turning the lights out for that 'proper movie viewing experience'. Dan doesn't mind, in fact, the idea of getting to sit in the dark with Phil is somewhat enticing. 

They're aren't far into the film at all when Phil's hand comes to rest on his knee. Dan isn't wearing his ripped jeans today so he doesn't get the benefit of feeling those lovely soft fingers against his skin, but with the memory of Phil's shirtless chest in his mind, it sends a jolt of electricity through him anyway. 

Dan leans closer, his shoulder pressing firmly into Phil's while Phil's fingers begin to trace circles on the inside of Dan's knee. Dan can't breathe. He'd hoped tonight might go this way, and he's excited to find that it is, but Phil makes him unnaturally nervous for some reason. 

Phil's face turns towards him. He can't see the details of his eyes in the glow of the movie, one he's seen a million times before, but he's so close he can feel the warmth of Phil's breath on his cheek. 

"Phil…" he says, though he doesn't know why. 

And then Phil leans in, closing the distance between them. His mouth is warm and wet and he tastes of wine and pasta sauce. Dan kisses back, eagerly, reaching for him, fingers scrabbling, needing to touch him somewhere. Anywhere. 

Dan is the first to let his tongue push against the seam of Phil's lips and Phil's mouth parts for him, allowing him entrance, his own tongue waiting, sliding them together hot and willing. 

Dan moans, breathy and high pitched, almost a whine, and Phil's hand grips tighter onto Dan's thigh. 

Dan shifts too, his hand sneaking up under the hem of Phil's t-shirt and pressing against a wide expanse of warm, soft skin.

Phil leans further, rising from the couch, their mouths barely parting for a second, throwing a long leg over the top of Dan's lap and settling down, his lush ass sat down on Dan's thighs. 

Dan doesn't know where to start. He wants his hands all over him. He slips both under Phil's t-shirt, gripping at the dip of his waist, pulling him closer as Phil's tongue licks into the inside of his bottom lip, teeth grazing. 

Phil tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, clinging too tightly as they press their chest flush to each other, so tightly that he tugs, sending a frisson of heat up Dan's scalp, and a moan out of his mouth, gasping for air. 

After a few more minutes Phil's hands leave his hair and instead push gently on his collarbone, easing himself back and away. Dan chases his mouth for a second, eyes flying open, before realising what's happening. 

"What? What's happening?" 

"I think we need to slow down," Phil says, breathing heavily. 

"Why? Why slowing? No slowing, the speed is good." 

Phil chuckles at him, low and dark, "I just think we shouldn't rush into anything."

Dan groans, pulling his hands away from Phil's skin and using them to cover his own face, dropping it back onto the rise of the couch.

"You're going to kill me," he says. "I actually think it might be possible to die from blue balls." 

He presses his hips up so that his very obvious erection pushes firmly into the solid curve of Phil's arse. It does nothing to help with how it is aching for attention, but he hopes it gets his point across. 

"Sorry," Phil says, "if it helps, I'm in the same predicament." 

Dan risks a glance down and finds that Phil is indeed hard in his jeans. There is a very obvious outline of a thick, long cock against his inseam and Dan groans again, thinking of what might have been. 

Phil gets off his lap and sits back down beside him. The movie is still going but neither of them are watching it now. Instead, they're sitting side by side, both hard, both breathing heavily, neither of them saying anything. 

"Is it me?" Dan asks after a while.

"What?" 

"I mean, you kissed me so I don't think you're _not_ attracted to me, but if you don't want to, like, do this, you don't have to keep pushing the dating thing. We can just part ways." 

Phil laughs. It's not the reaction that Dan was expecting, but it's the one he gets. 

"What?" Dan says, grumpily. 

"That's not it at all. I am attracted to you…. Very _very_ attracted to you," he looks down at his still present bulge by way of evidence, "I just… I like you." 

"Oh."

"And I kind of… I want to take it slow. Sometimes it's good to… you know, wait for things."

Dan nods. "I get it." 

"The waiting can be good too," Phil says, leaning in to steal one last kiss from the corner of Dan's mouth, "trust me."

"Right."

Phil's face looks stricken suddenly. He angles his body away, moving his hands so they are no longer touching Dan's thigh. 

"Unless you don't… oh god. Maybe you just want to… I mean that's how we met, I should have—" 

"No," Dan says, interrupting him by reaching out for him, "No. I… I like you too."

"Good," Phil breathes, relieved. 

"I'm just not… I'm not very good at the whole dating thing," Dan says, "I haven't really done it much. Not… in a while." 

Phil rights himself on the couch, sitting closer than before and dropping his hand back to Dan's knee to start back with those maddening circles. "Don't worry," he says, "You're doing just fine."

* * *

Dan never thought he'd be willing, and waiting, for a date. After the night at Phil's he's feeling better about the whole dating thing. Especially as he realises that he does, in fact, like Phil. He doesn't know when it happened, somewhere between him asking for a do-over and spilling pasta sauce down his front, probably, but it's happened just the same. 

And now Dan _wants_ a date. 

He texts him the day after, arriving at work with his coffee and still in his coat. There is probably some weird dating rule that says he isn't supposed to text him so soon after the last date to ask for another one, Phil certainly never has, but he wants to be the one to ask this time. Since Phil has done all of the work up to this point. 

**Dan, 8:34 AM**  
i would love to return the favour of dinner at my flat if you are up for it

He'll probably save Phil the trauma of his cooking, but he will stretch to paying for takeout. His own film selection might not be as vast or as cinematically important as Phil's, but he's sure they can find something to watch while Phil tortures him with mind-melting kisses. 

**Phil, 8:40 AM**  
Sounds great! :)

Dan smiles at his phone. 

"Date went well then?" Callum asks. 

Dan doesn't furnish him with details, even when he asks for them, but he can answer honestly to say that "Yeah, it did."

Dan eagerly anticipates the date all week. They text back and forth, and Dan spends an inordinate amount of time smiling down at his phone and neglecting his work, but it isn't like it's all that taxing, so there are few consequences. Aside of Callum's constant ribbing about his 'boy toy', all is well. 

That is, until the day before the date. Dan is on his way out of the office and he's halfway down the street to the underground station when Phil calls him. 

"Hello," Dan says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Hi Dan." Phil's voice is croaky, a little quiet. 

"Uh oh," Dan says, "you don't sound good."

"I'm so sorry," Phil says, "I picked up a bug from somewhere and I feel awful. I don't think I can make it to our date." 

"Okay," Dan says, trying to hide how disappointed that makes him feel, "No worries. I hope you feel better soon." 

"I think I'm just going to curl up on my couch with my duvet and some films."

"Sounds like a good plan." 

"Can I call you when I feel a bit better?" Phil says, "I really did want to see you." 

"Yes, definitely," Dan says. "Take care of yourself."

Phil says that he will and he thanks Dan again for not being mad about him having to cancel and then Dan finds himself with his weekend completely free. 

He feels lost. Usually, with a free weekend ahead and no attachments he'd be off down a club or a bar, scouting out the next person to invite to his bed. But he's stuck thinking of Phil's soft smile, his warm laugh, the taste of his mouth. 

He doesn't want that anymore. He doesn't want the loud music and the meaningless flings under flashing disco lights. He wants nights on the sofa, Phil driving him crazy with his impossible eyes and soft hands. 

As he reaches the top of the steps to the underground station he changes his mind. He turns on his heel, heading off towards Tesco, making a decision he hopes is the right one.

* * *

This time Phil answers the door with his duvet draped around his shoulders. He's wearing glasses, which Dan hasn't seen before but thinks suit him really well. 

"Dan?" he says, his voice still croaky and his face drawn into confusion, as if he thinks he might be imagining the fact that Dan is at his door. 

"Hi," Dan says, a little sheepish now he's actually here. "You wear glasses."

It's a stupid thing to say, but he's winging it here, no idea what he's doing at all.

"Yes, I do. Are you… what's going on?" 

"I thought… well, I thought that since you weren't feeling very well and couldn't make our date tomorrow, that I'd drop by and bring you some supplies." 

"Supplies?" 

"Yeah," Dan opens the carrier bag swinging at his side and shows the contents to Phil, "cold medicine, electrolyte drinks, soup, and some chocolate." 

"You brought medicine?" 

Phil looks perplexed, his brows drawn together, and Dan wonders if he's made a mistake. Stuff like this isn't exactly in his usual wheelhouse. 

"God, sorry, was this stupid? I was on my way home and I just thought about you being all alone and unwell and I thought… I'm sorry. It was weird of me to come over here without being invited, I'll just go—" 

"Did you say chocolate?" Phil says, interrupting him. 

Dan nods. 

"Come in," Phil says, smiling. He turns, trailing back into his flat, duvet flying out behind him like a cape. Dan finds him on the couch, already laying back down. 

He places the bag on the coffee table and then drums his hands on his thighs, not really knowing what to do next. 

"It isn't stupid," Phil says. "That you came. I… I'm really glad you're here."

He pulls back the bottom of the duvet and moves his feet to create a space for Dan to sit. Dan drops into the seat and Phil stretches out his legs over top of Dan's thighs, languid and entitled, like Dan exists simply as a footrest. 

He can't say he minds. 

"What are you watching?" Dan says, dropping his hand to the arch of Phil's foot. He presses his thumb into the arch, Phil moans with some kind of pleasure. The sound goes directly to his cock but he tries not to think of it, not when Phil is sick. 

"Buffy," Phil says. 

Dan snorts, "and here I was thinking you had some kind of elevated movie-buff taste."

"I used to watch it when I was younger," Phil says, "now I always watch when I'm ill. It's like… um…" 

"Like a comfort thing," Dan says. "I get it."

He remembers back to their first date. The real one, not the do-over, and Phil talking about Angel. He should have known.

He continues to rub at Phil's foot, working his fingers into the tense muscles. He switches feet when Phil prompts and does the same to the other one. He watches Buffy, and despite himself he actually gets in to the story. An episode and a half later, Phil's breathing evens out and Dan looks over to where his face is smushed into his pillow, hair a riotous mess, and finds that he has fallen asleep. 

He chuckles at the sight. Phil's mouth is open, his breathing crackling with how stuffed up his nose is, and yet Dan still thinks he's beautiful. He's never thought that before, not even when he was dating someone, so many years ago now, so many that he was a bit too young for it even to count. But he thinks it about Phil, he thinks that he wants to be here even if he's ill, and he doesn't mind waiting while he gets better, or even longer. They can take this at as slow a pace as Phil wants, Dan thinks, and he wouldn't really mind at all. 

It shakes him, slightly, to realise that, and so as gently as he can - so he doesn't disturb Phil - he creeps out from underneath his feet and stands up. He contemplates leaving, it's what he would have done before. Wait until they fall asleep and then sneak out is definitely his usually trick, but he doesn't want to. He wants to stay, he wants to take care of him. 

Instead, he takes the soup from the carrier bag he brought with him to the kitchen, and rummages around to find a pan to cook it in. He puts away the clean dishes in the dishwasher by trial and error, opening every cabinet in the place until he finds out where they all go, and then loads it back up with the dirty ones in the sink. He can't figure out how to actually turn it on, but he can find out when Phil wakes up. 

He cooks the soup, and tidies around Phil a little bit, moving tissues off the coffee table and re-filling his glass of water. He places the cold medicine next to the glass and reminds himself to ask Phil when the last time he took anything was, and by the time the soup is done, and Dan is carrying it back into the room in a steaming bowl, Phil is stirring. 

"I fell asleep," Phil says, stating the obvious. 

"You did."

"And you… made me soup?"

"Hm, yes." 

Phil shifts, sits up and holds his hands out for the bowl, clutching it to his chest and coughing a little as he does. 

"I can't believe you made me soup."

"Me either," Dan says, "not really."

Phil regards him, and then nods to himself as if filing it away for later. He picks up the spoon and tucks in, soft appreciative little sighs escaping him every now and again. 

When he's done, Dan asks Phil how to work his dishwasher and loads the bowl, spoon, and pan into it. Phil is once again shocked by the proceedings, but he doesn't offer commentary on it besides a raising of his eyebrows and the odd confused glance. 

Dan is grateful, because he isn't sure how he'd explain his behaviour if Phil did ask. All he knows is that Phil is ill, and that makes Dan feel a bit awful, and well, he _likes_ Phil, is the thing. Actually, properly, likes him. 

"I think I want to go to bed," Phil says a little while later. 

"Oh, sure," Dan says, looking out at the sky to see the sun has dipped all the way down and it is dark outside. A street lamp shines in bright orange opposite Phil's window. "I'll leave you in peace."

"I've… um," Phil is sat up, his hair is stuck out at odd angles and his glasses are wonky. "I've got a TV in my room if you… wanted to stay a bit longer."

Dan is taken aback, just a little bit, by the offer. 

"You're inviting me into your bed?" Dan says, crooking a single eyebrow. 

He deflects, because it's easier to joke about something than to admit how it's made his heart rate pick up for no reason at all. Just because he's come to terms with the fact that he likes Phil, that he wants to be here without any other incentive than to be near him, it doesn't mean he's any good at it. 

Or that he isn't still affected by the idea of laying next to him on an actual honest to goodness bed. 

"I'm inviting you to sit in my bedroom with me, watch Buffy, and listen to me cough," Phil clarifies. 

Dan grins at him, shaking his head fondly. "Alright," he says, "You dork. Come on, let's get you comfortable."

Phil's bedroom looks even more like him than the rest of the flat. There is a chest of drawers with even more trinkets, at least three houseplants in various states of life, and his bed right in the middle is made of dark wood, a mid century style that Dan actually really likes. 

Phil flops down on the bed, spreading his duvet out around himself with an exaggerated flick of his wrists. It settles, straight and un-wrinkled and he pats the space next to him. 

Dan shuffles in as Phil turns the television on, picking up an episode of Buffy where they left off. Dan has lost the thread of the storyline completely, but he doesn't mind. 

He doesn't usually feel awkward or shy when entering someone's bedroom. He's been known to toe off his shoes, shuck his trousers, and crawl into unfamiliar sheets with wild abandon before now. But something about these being Phil's sheets, this being Phil's bedroom, makes him pad across the room slowly and sit down on the edge of the duvet delicately and timid. 

"I don't bite," Phil says. 

Dan looks over at him, smiles, and tries to make himself a bit more comfortable. 

"Well," Phil smirks, winking with one eye first but the other following soon after, "unless you want me to." 

It might have been enticing, it might have caused Dan to have another attack of racing heart and thoughts that spin outwards and away from him, but Phil's attempt to make his voice low and seductive makes him start coughing and Dan is too busy worrying about him. 

He reaches out, placing a hand on Phil's back as he coughs. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," Phil says, taking a deep breath, coughing coming to an end. "I'm just tired."

"Sleep," Dan says. 

Phil looks over at him, "Will you stay?"

"Overnight?" Dan says. "Are you sure?"

Phil nods.

"Not exactly how I thought I'd be spending our first night together," Dan admits, chuckling. 

"You don't… I mean, I'm really grateful you came over. Of course you don't have to stay and look after me. You've already done so much." 

"Phil," Dan says, using the hand still on Phil's back to pull him a bit closer, "I'm joking. Of course I'll stay, I'd love to."

Dan takes a moment to step out of his jeans, he checks that Phil is comfortable with him being in his pants and Phil says that he is but if Dan wants to he can borrow some pyjamas. Dan looks at the cartoon-covered pair Phil is wearing and tells him that he'd rather not. 

He climbs in to the warm nest of blankets beside Phil, and Phil immediately rolls over, lifts Dan's arm up, and snuggles in close, head on Dan's chest. 

"This is nice," Phil says when they're settled. 

Dan runs a hand up and down the broad expanse of Phil's back, the TV's low sound filling the room, the flickering light dancing off the shiney locks of Phil's hair. 

"Yeah," he says, "it is."

* * *

Waking up in the morning with Phil wrapped around him isn't bad at all. He rolls over, still groggy from sleep, and is hit by the full force of Phil's blue eyes staring at him. 

"Morning," Dan says. 

"Morning."

"How are you feeling?"

"Umm, a bit better," Phil says, "I think. I mean, not fully, but a bit." 

"I'm glad." Dan stretches, raising his arms over his head and watching Phil's eyes flick down to the strip of skin above his boxers that's exposed as he does. "You alright there?"

Phil's pupils are dilated, his mouth parted, and Dan could swear he's breathing a little heavier. 

"You ever walk around an amusement park?" Phil says, "and your feet are really tired, and you ache all over, and then you get to the final, best ride, but you're too exhausted to do anything about it?" 

Dan thinks Phil might be the weirdest person he's ever met. And that he must also be pretty weird because he understands him completely. 

"Am I the best ride?" he asks. 

Phil bites his lip, and nods. 

Dan chuckles at him. He's pleased to find that Phil wants him just as much as he wants Phil, that as sick as he is he's still affected by the sight of Dan, half-dressed in his bed. He leans over to press their lips together in a short, dry kiss. It isn't much, but he doesn't want to push Phil when he's ill. And besides, it's enough. 

"Coffee," Dan decides. 

"I can get you some," Phil says, moving as if to get up. 

"No, you're the patient, I'll get it."

Phil concedes, climbing back under the covers. "Patient?" he says, "Does that make you my doctor?"

"I could be," Dan says, getting out of bed and deciding to forgo his jeans for the time being. Let Phil look, if he wants. 

"Kinky," Phil says, attempting that wink-blink thing again. 

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I hope not," Phil says, "I've got plans for you."

There is something dark in Phil's eyes that Dan has to ignore. He's maybe regretting his decision to stay in his boxers considering they do nothing to hide how his dick twitches with the way Phil is looking at him. 

Instead, he uses his new-found knowledge of where Phil keeps everything in his kitchen to make them coffee. He takes it back to Phil in the bedroom and gets right back in bed next to him. They spend the day huddled up close, watching more Buffy, and in Phil's case, napping. 

It's a far cry from what Dan had imagined when he'd spotted Phil across that bar all those weeks ago, but he can't find it within himself to wish for anything else. It's almost perfect. 

He takes care of Phil for the whole weekend, and then drops in on him again after work in the week to bring him more soup. Phil is almost better, and they arrange an evening where they can go out of the house, catch a movie, eat some dinner, it doesn't matter, but then Dan comes down with the same thing Phil had. 

"I blame you," Dan croaks down the phone at him when he has to cancel their date, "you gave it to me."

Phil turns up at his door a few hours later with cold medicine and soup. Dan already has Buffy and a duvet set up on his couch, not that he'd been assuming or anything. 

With Dan sick, it means it's going to be even longer before they are both fit enough to do anything more than kiss. Phil holds him close, and they tangle themselves together at night in Dan's bed, and it's fine. They don't need to do any more for now and Dan is perfectly content to wait. 

He knows now, despite his initial thoughts on the subject, that waiting can sometimes be the best part. The building anticipation he feels, that he sees reflected in Phil's eyes. Sometimes good things come to those who wait, and Phil is worth waiting for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, maybe [reblog on Tumblr?](http://agingphangirl.tumblr.com/post/182718556257/hurry-up-and-wait)


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